


wish that we were magic

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Singapore Grand Prix 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: A Saturday night meeting.





	wish that we were magic

“What a lap,” Lewis whispers, lips tickling the lobe of Charles’ ear. He sinks his teeth into it and hums, sultry like the Singapore weather, hungrier than he’d been on the track. “I was blown away. Everyone was.”

Charles whines under his breath, shifting slightly so he’s pressed into Lewis’ thighs, and his erection grows more obvious by the second. Even within the comfort of an air-conditioned hotel room, Charles’ skin is sweaty and red from both arousal and warmth, a gorgeous display of desire that Lewis simply can’t resist. He’s as responsive in bed as he is inside the cockpit, gasping softly at every word of praise coming out of Lewis’ mouth, and Lewis wonders if he can make Ferrari’s prodigy fall apart just by telling him all the right things.

His hands squeeze Charles’ arse through the thin underwear, encouraging him to sway his hips; at the same time, he presses wet kisses down Charles’ neck and says, “You’re so gorgeous, man, prettiest champion on the grid.”

That does it for Charles—he moans loudly, unabashed, and begs Lewis to _give it, give everything to him already_, whatever that means in an ambitious prodigy’s mind. Lewis thinks he’s supposed to know, having lived in that very position so many years ago, but then again, he’s got over a decade on Charles. He’d chosen to give up his youth so he could become the experienced one, the role model. And what a mockery of a good example he is, hopping on the chance to fuck a young rival as soon as it’s presented to him. 

Lewis eases Charles off his lap, pushing him backwards so he’s flat on the bed. A rush of adrenaline fills his chest, and he crawls lower, face right between Charles’ spread legs. His thumbs hook into the elastic band of Charles’ boxers, and he slides them down with ease, taking a brief moment to appreciate the sight before him: Charles’ cock is gorgeous, a shiny bead of pre covering its tip—but that’s not what Lewis is after, not yet.

Smiling, he gently pulls Charles’ legs over his shoulders and leans in, pressing a wet kiss to Charles’ hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Charles says, hands desperately holding on to the sheets. His ankles dig into Lewis’ shoulder blades, keeping him in place, and Lewis can’t do anything but indulge him, eating him out as though it’s the real prize for the king of this hectic Saturday. He doesn’t hold back, moving sloppily until Charles is high on it, unconsciously grinding on Lewis’ face as he runs his mouth.

He’s never been good with languages—Nico used to hate the way he’s uneasy around anything deemed _too posh_ for a black kid from Stevenage—but he’s fairly sure he understands the pleas slipping past Charles’ lips, despite his non-knowledge of French. “You wanna know how pretty you look?” Lewis says. “You’re so beautiful.”

“_Please_,” Charles hisses. Bullseye. 

“Gorgeous,” Lewis continues, stopping to bite the inside of Charles’ thigh. It leaves a purple mark on his pale skin. “I saw you today, when you arrived in the paddock. You’re so pretty, walking with so much confidence, like you knew you were gonna be the best.”

“The best,” Charles repeats, a curious lilt to his voice, like he’s unused to hearing it.

Lewis flattens his tongue and licks a thick stripe from Charles’ arse up to his taint. “You were the best driver today, weren’t you?” he says. “What I saw you do today was on the level of a champion of the world.”

No matter how much he bites his lip, Charles can’t help pleading for some kind of mercy. It’s not just the sinful drag of Lewis’ mouth over the most sensitive spot in his body; it’s the flurry of compliments, crawling under his skin and urging him to cry, laugh, and scream all at once. His racing isn’t a selfless endeavour, an adventurous journey into the highest echelons of competition—it’s as self-serving as it gets, his entire career built upon a deep need to be _praised_, and right now, he finally has what he deserves.

“I wanna make you come like this,” Lewis says. He holds Charles’ cheeks apart and spits before going down on him, lips wet with saliva, sucking on every inch of Charles’ skin he can reach. Above him, Charles wraps a hand around his own cock, and Lewis reaches up to stop him. “Just my mouth. I know you can do it, baby, you’re doing great.”

“Okay,” Charles breathes out, ecstatic and keyed up. “_Putain_, I think I’m going crazy.”

Lewis laughs. “Now you know how I feel when I see you.”

He dips the tip of his tongue inside Charles, fucking him in earnest, if only because his own arousal is almost impossible to bear at this point. Charles’ skin tastes clean from his recent shower, but with a distinct sweetness that Lewis can’t explain, not without delving into a whole new territory he’s trying to avoid, and it only spurs him to keep going until he feels Charles’ thighs trembling around him.

It doesn’t take much more to make Charles come, painting his taut abs pearly white. Lewis gets on his knees, then, jerking himself off, and he’s already so close just by looking at Charles—

“Shit, _Charles_,” he groans, coming all over Charles’ skin.

After a minute of nothing but their heavy breaths echoing through the room, Lewis leaves the bed, walking into the suite’s bathroom to gargle some cheap mouthwash and recompose himself. He returns with a damp towel in his hand, and he slowly drags the soft fabric over Charles’ dirty torso. “Did it feel good?”

Charles hums, those minx eyes seeing right through Lewis. “I want you to fuck me tomorrow,” he murmurs, fully aware of the power he holds. “When I don’t have to worry about sitting in the car.”

“You know I will. Anything for you,” Lewis says, and he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> BACK ON MY BULLSHIT, I SPAWNED THIS SHIP, Y’ALL KNOW HOW IT IS.
> 
> Title from _Young & Tragic_ by Dead Man’s Bones, which I only found out is 50% Ryan Gosling today.
> 
> I’m singlemalter on Tumblr, come holler at me about my gratuitous pornography.


End file.
